


Welcome to the Family

by justheretobreakthings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Aromantic Asexual Keith (Voltron), Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Found Family, Gen, Past Abuse, more tags and characters added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretobreakthings/pseuds/justheretobreakthings
Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.





	1. Chapter 1

“He’s  _our age_ ,” Lance said the moment Pidge and Hunk had connected to the Skype call, his voice coming out in practically a whine. “I cannot fucking believe it.  _Our age_.”

“Okay, yeah, we’re gonna need context here,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “Who’s our age, and why do you sound distraught about it?”

Lance huffed out a breath. “Remember when I told you about how Mom and Pop-pop were planning on becoming foster parents since everyone in the house keeps growing up and moving out? And they did those interviews and home visits and stuff?”

“Vaguely,” Pidge said.

“Yeah, not like you mentioned how excited you were to be a big brother, what, forty times a day? Fifty?” Hunk added.

“A conservative estimate if I ever heard one,” Pidge said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” said Lance. “Well, apparently they got their foster kid assignment, told me and Rachel about it today. He’s gonna be moving in on Wednesday and guess what? Guess fucking what?”

“He’s our age,” Hunk said flatly.

“ _He’s our age!_  Hell, he’s  _older,_  technically. Same grade, but he’s got a fall birthday. I just - God, I had  _plans_ , you know? I was getting ready for some cute little eight-year-old to move in and be in awe of their amazing big brother Lance. I was gonna teach them how to dive and help them with their homework and, like, go kite-flying and give piggyback rides and - ”

“I’m sorry, time out,” Pidge interrupted. “Do you even know how to fly a kite?”

“I was going to learn!” Lance snapped. “Point is, I was finally,  _finally_  going to  _not_ be the goddamn baby of the family for once, I was finally going to get to do all those big-brother things that Marco and Luis got to do. And what happens? I get assigned a guy who’s  _our age_.”

“Well,  _your_  age,” Pidge said.

“Our grade, whatever. How am I supposed to do all that with someone my age, huh? How am I supposed to get him excited about genius brother Lance helping him with his homework if he’s in the same grade as me? I can barely help  _myself_ with homework!”

“Aw, Lance,” Hunk said, reaching up to pat his webcam as if he were patting Lance on the head. “Maybe he’ll want to do the kite-flying and piggyback rides anyway.”

“Believe it or not, Hunk, I don’t want to give a piggyback ride to someone who’s months older than me.”

“Bummer.”

“I just -  _gah!”_  Lance set his elbow onto his desk hard enough for a  _thunk_  to echo through it and began kneading the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I wish my parents would’ve given me some warning, you know? Let me know ahead of time that they were planning on fostering a teenager.”

“Quick question,” said Pidge. “Did your parents ever actually say, specifically, that they were going to be fostering a little kid, or did you just assume?”

Lance grimaced. “Okay, no, they didn’t specify. But come on! When you hear the words ‘foster kid’, you don’t picture some fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year-old, right? You picture, like, a little orphan Annie type age range.”

Pidge laughed. “Oh my God, you were fully prepared for your life to become a musical, weren’t you? Did I not warn you that joining drama club was going to end up screwing with your brain?”

“Oh, hush up, I wasn’t being literal about the Annie thing. Just the age.”

“What else do you know about this guy?” Hunk asked.

“Like, next to nothing? His name’s Keith, he’s going into sophomore year like we are, and I’m supposed to be nice and make him feel welcome. That’s all the information I’ve got.”

“Well, then, for all you know, this could still be fun, right? Sure, you’re not getting a  _little_  brother or sister like you wanted, but you’re still getting a new brother, yeah? So, make the most of it. Maybe he’ll still want to do a bunch of fun stuff with you and still let you teach him things and all that. You can still do some of that stuff with someone your own age, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed. “But it’s not the same. And plus, I dunno, just… the whole thing about having someone the same grade as me living in my house, it’s kinda…”

“Kinda what?” Pidge asked.

“Well, like, okay, we’re probably going to be in some of the same classes right? So what if he’s the type of person who comes home and immediately reports to Mamá every time I bomb a quiz or something? Or what if he’s one of those slackers who will be copying all my work?”

“If you’re bombing quizzes, it’d be pretty stupid of him to copy off of you,” Pidge pointed out.

“Maybe he’s just not that bright, you don’t know. Or, God, even worse, what if he’s one of those perfect student, straight-A, never-does-anything-wrong types and I end up having to deal with a bunch of, ‘oh, Lance, your brother’s such a good student, why can’t you be more like him?’ And also, like, what if he’s hot?”

“Lance,” Hunk said, face suddenly grave, “Please promise me you’re not going to try hitting on your _foster brother_.”

“No, God, that’s not what I meant. But I mean, there are only so many dateable people at our school as is. The last thing I need is for someone from my own home to swoop in and start taking up all the good ones for himself.”

“Ever the romantic, aren’t you?” Pidge said.

“I’ve got a lot of love to give, Pidge. I just - I don’t need that, you know? I don’t need someone moving into my house and just suddenly becoming my competition for everything. That sort of thing wouldn’t be a problem if it was going to be a little kid, but now - ”

“Lance,” Hunk said, “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“It’s Lance, of course he is,” Pidge remarked. “If ever there was a person who loved hearing the sound of his own voice - ”

Hunk pressed on as if he hadn’t heard her. “You haven’t even met this guy, and already you’re declaring him to be some sort of rival for you or something.”

Lance sighed. “Fine, yes, you caught me Doctor Hunk, I’m jumping to conclusions. It’s much more likely that this Keith guy is going to show up, decide I’m his role model, never quite measure up to me but be delighted to learn the ways of life at my feet, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t seriously expect your imaginary little brother to do that, did you?” Pidge asked. “I mean, dude, you  _are_ a little brother, and you sure as hell didn’t do that with any of your siblings. Or have you suddenly blocked off all your childhood memories? I was there for a bunch of them, you can’t fool me, McClain.”

“Well, yeah, but we’ve been siblings since birth. It’s different when it’s a foster kid, right? Like, getting to be all excited and happy about having a new family and a better life and stuff?”

“Is there a way I can get a transcript of this whole conversation? Because I want to show it to Keith when he gets here, give him a warning about what kind of nonsense he’s in for.” Lance rolled his eyes.

“For the record,” Hunk said, “I think it sounds really cool, getting a foster brother your own age.”

“How do you figure?” asked Lance.

“Well, like, you’re going to get to know this guy well and share classes with him and all, so he could end up being, you know, a really close friend for you, like me and Pidge. Except in this case, you don’t go off to your separate homes at the end of the day, you can just keep hanging out, like, on and on and on. It’d be like having a sleepover with a friend every single night. Oh, and you can partner up for group projects at school and you never have to worry about arranging times and places to meet up. And you can share your clothes with each other and you guys can go on double dates and wear pairs costumes on Halloween and - ”

“Hunk,” Pidge interrupted him, “You are going to be in for  _such_  a rude awakening when you go to college and get a roommate for the first time.”

“Come on, it could happen!” Hunk insisted. “Like Lance said, we don’t know anything about Keith. He could very well be a super friendly, fun, cool guy that Lance would _love_  to spend time with! Sometimes it’s good to think best-case scenario when you’re anxious about something.”

“I’m not anxious about Keith,” said Lance. “I’m just… I dunno, I’m not anything!”

“Besides disappointed that he’s not an eight-year-old,” Pidge said.

“Right, besides that. It’s all up in the air right now, is the thing. I could be getting the greatest brother ever or the worst, could go either way. Can’t find out ‘til Wednesday.”

“Do your parents have any more info on him?” Hunk asked. “It’s not like a social worker just came up to them and told them, ‘Hey, you’re getting a kid, his name’s Keith, incoming sophomore, pick him up on Wednesday, the rest is a surprise.’”

“They don’t know anything that would matter to me,” Lance answered. “Mamá got this binder on him, but I’m pretty sure it’s all just case history and medical stuff. Wouldn’t do me a whole lot of good to know his former addresses and his blood type.”

“In that case,” said Pidge, “Guess all that’s left to do is wait.”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed. “I guess.”

“Hey, be excited,” Hunk said. “You’re getting a new brother. And odds are, you’re getting a new person to add to our group, so I guess Pidge and I get to be excited too.”

“Good point,” Pidge said with a nod. “What would the Three Musketeers be without their d’Artagnan?”

Lance blinked at her. “What would what?”

“What would the Three Stooges be without Shemp?”

“Ah. Well, you’ll get to meet him soon too, seeing as he’s gonna be our classmate and all. So if he’s horrible, you guys get to suffer with me, okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Let us know when he gets in, okay?” Hunk said. “Text us your first impressions, get a picture, stuff like that.”

“Aw, isn’t it cute?” Pidge said. “Hunk’s even more excited about your new brother than you are.” Hunk just shrugged.

“Sure, fine, I’ll give you all the live coverage,” Lance said. “And Hunk, if he shows up and he’s  _not_  the mega-friendly new best friend you promised me, you owe me recompense for getting my hopes up.”

“Ooh, look at Lance, pulling out the SAT words,” Pidge laughed.

“Fine, deal,” said Hunk. “I’ll place my bet now.”

“And I’ll join that betting pool,” said Pidge. “My money’s on him being a hellspawn maniac who tries to murder you in your sleep.”

“Pidge,” Lance said, “Why the  _hell_  would you say that?”

“To mess with you.”

“Great. So my options are ‘crazy murderer’ and ‘angel who was crafted specifically to be my perfect friend’.”

“As a group, we’re really not that great at considering the middle ground, are we?” Pidge said.

“Keeps life interesting. All right, signing off now, I’ll keep both of you updated on the Keith situation, okay?”

At the confirmations from his friends, Lance ended the Skype call and pushed his swivel chair back from his desk with a long, slow breath.

Wednesday. Keith would be coming on Wednesday. Today was Monday, so he had two days to prepare. Two days before he got his brand new brother.

“Damn it, Hunk,” he muttered to himself, “You’d be better be right about him.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Keith,” Kolivan said without looking up from his phone, “Would you  _please_  stop that.”

Keith complied, stilling the leg that he had been bouncing, and which had been bumping the backrest of his chair into the wall for the past two minutes, softly but seeming much louder in the silent vestibule. With other caseworkers in the past, he probably would have met their gaze and kept going, waiting to see their reaction, but his newest caseworker was… intimidating. He hadn’t done anything to Keith, at least not yet - hadn’t raised his voice at him or ever used force to get Keith to follow directions - but his muscular build combined with his permanent resting scowl painted an imposing picture.

He been all business and stoicism ever since Keith was assigned to him, and on the one hand, it was a refreshing change from those workers who cheerily tried to convince him that they were going to basically be his new best friend. On the other, he was impossible to read, so Keith had no idea what the consequences would be for getting on his bad side. He had decided not to risk it.

So he stopped the leg bouncing, settling his feet back onto the floor, and nudging aside the duffel bag - all of his earthly possessions in one single convenient sack - that brushed against his ankle. He switched to a quieter fidget, settling on squeezing his fingertips, the fingers on his left hand wrapping around those on his right one by one. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky. Back to the thumb. Then switch hands, squeeze the ones on the left.

After a few minutes of this, Kolivan finally lowered his phone and tucked it into his pocket. “She’s on her way,” he grunted toward Keith. Keith nodded silently. “It’s all right if you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Keith said.

“You’re fidgeting.”

Immediately Keith stopped squeezing his fingertips and crossed his arms over his chest instead, scowling over at Kolivan. “Doesn’t mean I’m nervous.”

“All right,” Kolivan said with a shrug. He picked a small stack of folders up off of the end table in between their two seats and dropped them onto his lap, then started flicking through the top one. “I would be nervous,” he said after a bit.

Keith narrowed his eyes at him, tightening his crossed arms further. “Why?” he asked. He tried to shove aside all the thoughts that had immediately spun into his head, all the possibilities for reasons to be nervous about this new family.

“First foster home in over a year,” Kolivan answered simply. “Would make me nervous.”

Keith sighed. Right, of course it would have been something dumb like that. The case workers never told him the  _real_  reasons that he should be nervous about the new homes he wound up stuck into. What had he expected Kolivan to say? “I would be nervous to be around a foster dad who knows how to only leave bruises that won’t be seen.” “I would be nervous about a foster mother who gets handsy with anyone in reach after a single drink.” “I would be nervous to have a bedroom with a closet that locks from the outside.”

All warnings that would have been nice to know in the past, but would be too little too late now.

“Well, I’m not nervous,” Keith said. “So, you know - you can drop it.”

“Mm,” Kolivan grunted, his focus completely on the contents of the folder.

Keith leaned back in his seat to steal a glance at the papers. He caught a glimpse of the Arizona state seal and a form number, CSO-1171A. Some sort of legal stuff, then. Most of Kolivan’s job was legal paperwork, and it was all more or less meaningless to Keith, all just legalese that ultimately amounted to: this kid is now your problem, not ours.

He had a few papers of his own stuffed somewhere in the bottom of his bag, the ones he always received before being sent to a new home. A little profile of the home he was being sent to, and only the barest details at that. Names and ages of the household members, the home address, phone numbers. Keith had barely even glanced at the papers when they had been given to him. The foster parents always gave him a little tour on the first day anyway, during that little window right at the beginning when they were still pretending they were happy to have him around.

Keith knew the drill by this point, even if there had been a bit of a gap since his last home.

He chewed his lip as he tapped his toe idly against his duffel. He wondered how much these new foster parents knew about  _that_  whole deal. Kolivan probably had had to give them at least some of the details, since they’d no doubt want to know why the past year and a half of Keith’s case history was spent in juvenile detention. The question remained, then, whether or not they gave a damn about his side of the story. They usually didn’t.

Then again, these people  _had_  still agreed to foster a kid straight out of juvie, so maybe they were the second-chance-giving sort. Or, of course, the sort who took in “problem kids” knowing that such a label often got social services to turn a blind eye to harsher versions of “discipline.”

In his time in the system, Keith had experienced both, and he really wouldn’t care to have a repeat of the latter.

He was pulled from his thoughts a few minutes later when Kolivan stood up beside him, and he looked up to see that a pale blue hatchback had pulled into the parking lot outside of the transparent front doors, and the driver’s side door was swinging closed as someone climbed out of it. Keith rose to his feet as well, reaching down to grab the strap of his duffel bag before slowly straightening up and slinging it onto his shoulder.

Kolivan led him out the door as the woman approached, and Keith took in as much detail about her as he could. She was short, probably about a head shorter than himself, and somewhat boxy in build, with a very round face and wide, bright eyes. Not exactly intimidating to look at, but that of course didn’t mean that Keith should be letting his guard down just yet.

“Señora McClain?” Kolivan asked, and for a moment Keith felt a hint of panic. He didn’t speak Spanish, at least not beyond the elementary school basics. It was one of those things that he should have learned by now but simply never had the chance. How he would manage to get by in a house where the only things he could communicate were basic greetings, colors, and counting to twenty -

“The one and only,” Señora McClain, with a faint hint of an accent in her warm voice, smiling widely at Kolivan before turning to Keith. “And either you’re Keith, or I know someone who looks  _very_  similar to you in photos.” Oh. Okay, so there was no language barrier to worry about. Immediately he mentally scolded himself for panicking. Idiot.

“You can call me Tania,” she continued. “Not that saying ‘Mamá’ wouldn’t be ideal, but don’t worry, we’re not forcing anything. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.” She stretched her arms out, and Keith instantly shrank back, his duffel bag swinging to block his front like a shield. “Not a hugger, that’s fine,” Tania said. “Shake?”

Keith eyed her warily as he took her hand and shook it, watching her face closely. He couldn’t read much; her smile seemed genuine enough, but he’d thought that before when it turned out not to be the case. And - there it was: her gaze slipped for a fraction of a second to his scarred cheek. She didn’t mention it, though, as she released his hand and turned to Kolivan as the latter cleared his throat.

“Going to need your signature on a couple of these before you go,” he said, turning his folder to her with a couple of papers placed on top. “The rest you can keep.”

“Right, sure, got a pen in here somewhere,” Tania said, fishing through her purse. “Sorry Manuel wasn’t able to join us to pick you up, Keith,” she continued as she found the pen and accepted the folder from Kolivan. “He got paged into a work emergency, but he’ll be back this afternoon in time for family dinner tonight. You’ll get to meet Lance and Rachel and, oh, I  _believe_  Veronica should be home, I had her promise not to make plans this evening so she could be here for dinner. Specialty of mine, do you like ropa vieja, Keith?”

“Um,” Keith answered. Every one of those names was meaningless to him, and he had no idea what ropa-something was.

“Well, you can try it if you want, and if you don’t like it, we stocked up on plenty of different microwave dinners to substitute. Wasn’t sure what all you like, so if there’s anything you need that we don’t have, we can make a grocery run soon.” She finished with the paperwork and passed the top papers back to Kolivan before tucking the rest under her arm. “There anything else I need to do, or are we clear to take Keith home?”

Keith’s grip on the strap of his duffel bag tightened and he set his jaw. He always hated it when his foster families referred to their houses as ‘home’ - they weren’t home,  _home_ had burned to ash years ago - but he’d long ago learned to just let it slide. It was just semantics, after all.

“That’s everything,” Kolivan grunted. “I’ll come by next Wednesday to see how Keith’s settling in?”

“That would be fine.”

“And you have my number?” he asked, turning to Keith. Keith nodded. He doubted he would call it - his case workers in the past had usually seemed annoyed at being contacted over anything short of murder-in-progress on the severity scale, which, thankfully, things had never escalated to - but he had it. “Seems we’re all set, then.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Tania said, clasping her hands together. “Keith, will you need any help getting your things to bring to the car?”

“These are my things,” Keith answered, gesturing to the duffel bag.

“Oh - oh, of course!” Her smile may have flickered, but it was back at full steam in a flash. “Shall we head out, then?”

Keith followed her to the car, slinging his bag into the back seat before taking shotgun. Tania turned the car on after she’d climbed in behind the wheel. “You can pick the station if you’d like,” she said, gesturing toward a screen on the dashboard indicating that the radio was currently tuned to some satellite pop station.

“This is fine,” Keith mumbled.

“You know, if you’d like, I can try and schedule a trip out to the outlet mall sometime soon, pick up some new things for you. Just, whatever you need to feel more at home.”

“Mm.”

“Lance is always up for a shopping trip, I’m sure he’d be glad to come along. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you, you know. Everyone has. I’ve got Luis’ room prepared for you - well, it was Luis’ room originally, but Marco moved into it when Luis left for college, and then  _he_  moved out too so it became a guest room, but I guess I still think of it as Luis’ room, just out of old habit. Of course, that isn’t to say that you aren’t free to decorate however you’d like - ”

Keith felt himself zoning out, and the rest of the car ride was spent with Tania chattering away about her family and the house and the plans for the week, with Keith remaining quiet except for the occasional grunt to show he was listening. It was a lot of information all at once, and it was difficult to follow. Five kids, three had moved out - no, two had moved out, the two who were in college - or, no, that wasn’t it, one had graduated, one was away at college, one in college but living at home? Or something. And then one of them was going to be in the same grade as him. Luis. Or Lance. One of the L ones. Was Marco her husband or one of the kids? And she mentioned an abuela, but Keith wasn’t sure if she lived at the house or not. It was all starting to get jumbled.

He supposed he would just have to wait until he actually got there to figure out the lay of the land.

And sooner than he had expected, they were pulling up the driveway of a large, craftsman-style house on the far west side of town, that area just on the edge of the city and a couple of streets away from being considered the countryside, and Tania was parking and opening her door. “You ready?” she asked.

Keith gazed up at the house for a few seconds, chewing his lip, before he took a deep breath a opened his own door, cautiously stepping out. “Yeah,” he said. “Ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Lance: hes here. car just pulled into the street_

_Pidge: Tell him hi from us._

_Lance: he doesnt know u_

_Pidge: So that means we can’t be friendly?_

_Hunk: what’s he like?_

_Lance: idk hes not even thru the door yet. text u back soon_

Lance shut off the screen of his phone and shoved it into his pocket as he got up to bound down the staircase where he’d been perched on the top step. “Rachel!” he called as he descended. “Keith’s here!”

“You don’t need to yell,” Rachel spoke up from where she’d been lounging across the couch in the front room. She sat up, closing her laptop and setting it aside before she stretched and looked over to where Lance had landed and was now trying to peer into the driveway through the frosted-glass window of the front door. “You spotted him?”

“Yeah, he’s getting out of the car now,” Lance answered, face still pressed to the glass.

“What does he look like?”

“Blurry.”

“Should have guessed. Step back from the door, would you, Lance? You’re gonna freak him out.”

Right as she said it the doorknob began turning, and Lance jumped back, narrowly avoiding being hit in the face by the door as it swung inward to usher in his broadly smiling mother. “Lance, Rach- oh, good, you’re both here,” she said. “You two ready to say hi to your new brother? Come on in, Keith, come meet the family. Well, two of the family.”

She stepped aside to make room for the other figure walking up the front steps, and Lance got his first good look at his new brother.

The first descriptor that crossed Lance’s mind at the sight of Keith was ‘emo’, but that wasn’t quite the right fit. The pale skin and black hair looked to be their natural tones, not makeup or hair dye, and he also didn’t have any jewelry or nail polish or decals on his clothes to indicate that he may have been going for that sort of aesthetic. He just had the colors right, what with the black of his tee shirt and scuffed shoes and jeans that looked to be growing too small on him, and the red of the red zip-up sweatshirt he wore over it even in the middle of August in Arizona.

He did, though, do a great job of pulling off that distinctly emo ‘don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t look in my direction, life is pain’ scowl that he wore across his face - a face which, with its smooth features and bold indigo eyes, could have been good-looking if it weren’t for the thick brown-pink mark slicing through one of his cheeks and the surrounding mane of hair that was so uneven it looked as if it had been cut with gardening shears.

Still, Lance had seen worse, and appearances could be deceiving; this could still be a great, fun guy to have around. So he kept up his smile as he said, “I’m Lance, nice to meetcha.”

Keith nodded silently in greeting, and did the same to Rachel when she introduced herself as well, but didn’t offer his own name in return. “So, uh,” Lance said, “Mamá said that you’re going into sophomore year too, yeah? So the two of us, we’re gonna be classmates as well as brothers. That’ll - that’ll be fun.”

Again Keith was silent, just shrugging in reply, and Lance frowned and turned to his mother. “ _¿Puede él hablar?_ ” he asked her. Can he talk?

“ _Sí_ ,” she answered. “ _Y él no habla español, así que no seas grosero._ ” Yes, and he doesn’t speak Spanish, so don’t be rude. A glance back toward Keith confirmed this, as his eyes were narrowed and darting back and forth between the two of them, brows bunched in confusion. Lance simply clicked his tongue, settling back with hands on his hips. There was nothing  _rude_  about speaking his own language in his own home.

“Now, Keith,” his mother continued, “Do you want me to give you a tour of the house first, or do you want to start unpacking your things?”

“Um, tour’s fine,” Keith mumbled, faint but still loudly enough for Lance to finally get to hear his voice. It was low and just a little raspy, although the rasp may just have been from the low volume.

“Excellent!” his mother said. “I could have Lance or Rachel drop you duffel into your room so you - ”

“No,” Keith said sharply, pulling his bag back and moving to grip the shoulder strap with both hands.

“Suit yourself,” she said with an easy shrug, as if there was nothing even remotely unusual or suspicious about that sort of response. “We’ve got the family room here, and you’re free to use the family Netflix account on the TV as much as you want, and there’s a Nintendo Playstation hooked up to the - ”

“Those are two different things, Mamá,” Rachel interrupted. “And we have an Xbox, which is neither of those.”

“Oh, well, whatever it is, if you want to play video games, you can use that. The dining room’s this way - mind that coat rack, dear, it tips easily, I keep saying that we need to get a new one, maybe hooks on the wall instead or something, just never do get around to it - and through here is the kitchen, I’ll show you where everything goes - ”

She guided Keith through the dining room, initially trying to put a hand on his shoulder to steer him, but simply leading the way touch-free after he grimaced and shrugged the hand off of him. Lance followed, idly pulling his phone from his pocket to see a handful of new texts from Pidge and Hunk asking for more details about Keith. He shot them a quick response.

_Lance: hes quiet_

He watched as his mother opened and closed drawers and cupboards one after another, showing Keith where they kept the cutlery, bowls, plates, canned goods, cereal, pots and pans, instructing him on what goes where in the fridge and demonstrating which burner on the stove didn’t work, all while Keith maintained that perpetual scowl, answering only with soft grunts, before adding:

_Lance: and kinda grouchy_

He shut his phone’s screen off and tagged along as his mother and Keith moved on to the home office and bathroom and then downstairs to the basement, waiting until the tour had made its way to the laundry room and his mother began explaining how their washer and dryer worked before looking at Pidge and Hunk’s two very different replies.

_Pidge: Of course he’s grouchy, he just discovered he’s going to be living with YOU._

_Hunk: He’s probably just nervous._

Lance made a face and texted back.

_Lance: im a DELIGHT to live with jsyk. & hes def giving off sort of an emo vibe_

_Pidge: How emo?_

_Lance: what do u mean_

_Pidge: On a scale of 1-10._

_Lance: u cant quantify emo_

He nearly didn’t notice the laundry crash course wrapping up and his mother and Keith heading out the door of the laundry room, so he saved the texting for later and hastened to follow as they started upstairs toward the bedroom.

His mother didn’t give a thorough tour of the rooms, to Lance’s relief, just quick peeks inside and naming which room belonged to whom. “Excuse the mess,” she said when she opened Lance’s door. “I swear,  _mijo,_  you have more clothes on your floor than you wear in a year.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. Honestly, his mother had once seen  _Pidge’s_  room when the Holts had had the McClains over for dinner; she should have forfeited all rights to complain about messes on that fateful night.

“And here’s your bedroom, Keith,” his mother said, reaching the door at the end of the hall and opening it to reveal the skeleton of Luis and Marco’s former room, now empty with bare surfaces on the dresser and desk and bookshelf from their long lack of occupancy. “Once you’re settled in we can do a bit of decorating to help it feel more homey, if you’d like. I mentioned that shopping trip we could take sometime soon, get some new things for you?” She glanced toward Keith’s duffel bag before asking, “Does this room work all right for you? You need anything?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said softly.

“That’s good, that’s good. Well, now that you’ve got the lay of the land, I’m going to get dinner started up. Veronica should be coming home any minute, and Manuel will definitely be home for dinner, so I’ll make sure they stop and stay hello when they show up. Lance, be a lamb and help Keith get his stuff unpacked and in their places, would you?”

“Sure, Mamá,” Lance replied as his mother sidled out the room. “There more bags in the car for me to bring in, or - ?”

“No, just the one.” Lance raised a brow, about to ask why Keith would need help unpacking just one bag, but his mother leaned in to whisper, “Talk to him, okay? Just make him feel welcome.”

That made more sense. Lance eased his way into the room as his mother left. Keith had already set his bag onto the bed and was removing a little stack of shirts from it. “You, uh, need any help with that?” Lance asked.

Keith scowled over at him. Which was fair; that stack of shirts probably weighed two pounds at most. “Ah, I just meant, you know where that stuff goes?”

“… The dresser?”

“Yeah. You - you got this, sorry.” Lance rocked on his heels as Keith moved toward the dresser, the latter still eyeing him cautiously. “So, uh,” Lance tried again, “Where you from?”

“Around,” Keith answered with a shrug.

Right. Foster kid. Probably moved around a lot. He was on a roll with stupid questions. “Well, uh, where are you from, like, most recently? Before here?”

Keith paused, frozen halfway through setting his clothes down in a dresser drawer, and it was several seconds before he quietly answered, “Holbrook.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it,” Lance said. “You like it there?”

This time Keith didn’t answer at all, instead simply slamming the dresser drawer shut and moving back to his bag. He fished into it and pulled out a toothbrush and comb. “Where’s the bathroom again?” he asked.

“Second door on the left,” Lance answered, and Keith turned to leave the room without so much as glancing at Lance.

Lance simply rolled his eyes and strolled over to the bed, where he sat and glanced into the open duffle bag. He nudged a gray sweatshirt aside to see a number of balled-up pairs of socks and boxers, a faded stuffed hippopotamus, and a few CDs in cases scattered across the bottom of the bag. He tilted his head to look at the titles. John Mellencamp, The Clash, Blue Cheer, a Chuck Barry CD with a spiderweb of cracks across the plastic case. Lance picked up ‘Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits’, examining the remains of the garage sale sticker still covering the singer’s face. “So you’re into the old-timey rock, huh?" he called. "Funny, I would have pegged you more for MCR or Linkin Park or - ”

He hadn’t noticed Keith’s footsteps thundering down the hall until the other boy was already in the room, practically shoving Lance off the bed and yanking the bag back toward him. “Hey!” Lance yelped, grabbing onto the bedpost to keep from slipping onto the floor.

“Why were you going through my stuff?” Keith snarled, pulling the bag back further.

“Wha- I dunno, I was just, you know, seeing if you had, like - like, any interests or anything, that’s all. Calm down, man.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say, because Keith’s glare just darkened further. “Don’t touch my stuff,” he growled.

“I’m sorry. Is it, uh, is it because of the hippo? You don’t have to be embarrassed, I sleep with a stuffed animal too, lots of people do.”

Keith huffed and turned away from him. “I can unpack by myself. You can leave.”

“Are you… are you sure you don’t wanna, like, hang out, chat a bit?”

The scowl that Keith leveled in his direction was as firm a ‘no’ as humanly possible. So Lance sheepishly straightened up and headed out of the room, Keith shutting the door firmly behind him.

With a sigh, Lance pulled his phone back out, turning the screen on to see that Pidge had proposed an essay’s worth of criteria to quantify emo onto a ten-point scale. Ignoring that for now, Lance started to text.

_Lance: hey hunk remember when u said keith was gonna be a cool friendly guy who will love hanging out with me?_

_Hunk: yeah? why?_

_Lance: guess what, im starting to think u were wrong_


	4. Chapter 4

With a shaky breath Keith turned around and leaned his back against the door, listening for Lance’s retreating footsteps and trying to regain his composure. One of his hands brushed against the knob and he debated turning the lock, but ultimately decided against it. Tania hadn’t mentioned whether he was allowed to lock his door, and he didn’t want to get in trouble if it turned out that it wasn’t permitted.

He waited until he was sure Lance was gone before going back to his bag, peering into it to see what had been messed with. He wasn’t sure what Lance’s aim had been, if he were looking to steal or looking for some contraband or something to report him on. Either way, it was incredibly stupid of him to have been commenting on his finds while he was rummaging through the bag.

Keith paused with a frown. That was _beyond_  stupid, actually. Or it would have been if Lance had intended to hide that he was looking through his things. Had he actually thought that it was just an okay thing to do? Was that some personal quirk of Lance’s or would this be the level of privacy he should be expecting at the McClain house? Keith let out a huff of frustration. He hated no-privacy houses.

At least it seemed that Lance hadn’t dug through more than clothes and CDs. The emergency first-aid supplies and food were untouched where they were stuffed at the end of the bag, and his knife was still safely wrapped in socks and tucked into the inner pocket.

He finished unpacking on his own. It didn’t take long; his clothes didn’t even take up a full two drawers of the room’s dresser, and the only personal touches he had brought with him were the plush hippopotamus now resting on top of his pillow, and the little stack of CDs and few paperback books that he set onto the wall-mounted bookshelf over the desk.

Afterward, he collapsed back onto the bed, trying to think of what to do to pass the time next. It wasn’t as if there was much by way of entertainment in this room - probably by design - but he also didn’t want to go back downstairs and interact with the family, not yet. Tania  _seemed_  nice enough, or at least was making an effort to be, but she was also kind of exhausting, and Lance was nosy, had kept following them around and staring at Keith and  _going through his things_. He still had yet to get a proper first impression of Rachel, but his hopes weren’t high.

With a sigh, he decided to hibernate in his bedroom for now. He pulled one of his books from the shelf - a weatherbeaten sword-and-sorcery that he had already read a couple dozen times over by this point - and set to reading it again, keeping his ears open for any sounds from the rest of the household. They seemed to be leaving him alone. He wasn’t sure whether Tania had just told them to give him space, or if they were avoiding or ignoring him; he was grateful for the quiet either way.

He had whiled away a couple of hours with his book before he was finally interrupted by a knock at the door. He looked up, letting a few seconds go by before realizing that whoever had knocked was waiting for his go-ahead to enter, so he said, “Come in.”

The door opened and Rachel poked her head into the room. “Hey,” she said. “Veronica just got home and Papá’s a couple minutes away, and dinner’s about ready, so Mamá needs you to come downstairs now, kay?”

“Um, okay,” Keith said, dog-earing his page and setting his book down on the bed before standing up.

Rachel raised a brow and nodded toward the book. “What, you don’t use bookmarks? Just fold the pages up like a heathen?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “For shame, Keith.”

Instantly Keith felt his stomach clench as he glanced back to the book. “No - no, it’s - it’s my book, I swear, I didn’t mess up any of your guys’ books, it’s - I mean, the pages aren’t in great shape anyway, and I would use a bookmark if it was someone else’s, I just didn’t think - ”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, easy,” Rachel said, eyes gone wide as she held up her hands placatingly. “Sorry, wasn’t accusing you of anything. Lance dog-ears his books too, I just like getting onto him about it. I say he’s a monster for folding the pages, he replies that I’m just being a snob with my oh-so-fancy bookmarks, and we call each other names until Mamá tells us we’re giving her a migraine. It’s fine, though. Mark your books however you want.”

“…Oh,” said Keith. “Okay.”

“You good to come down to dinner?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Rachel led the way downstairs, throwing curious glances his way a couple of times as they walked to the dining room. Keith kept his arms folded tightly and his gaze down as he followed her. He had overreacted about the book, started panicking over nothing, and now Rachel was thinking he was weird and confusing and probably overdramatic or something. Just what he needed to make a wonderful first impression.

A paunchbellied man with a scruffy ducktail beard was just entering the front door and he and Rachel landed downstairs, and another new face, a bespectacled young woman, was already in the dining room helping Lance set the table. Veronica, Keith surmised, and he was certain Tania had told him her husband’s name as well, but he couldn’t remember it.

“You must be Keith!” the bearded man said as he shut the door behind him, a beaming smile on his face. “I’m Manuel.” Well, there was that mystery solved. “Sorry I couldn’t come along to pick you up today, got called into work and just couldn’t worm my way out of it.”

“It’s quite all right, cariño,” Tania said as she bustled through the entrance to the kitchen with a pot of rice in her hands. As she set it down on a placemat on the table she added, “I really do wish that you’d talk to your supervisor, though, your hours have been a mess recently. Rachel, dear, could you grab the ropa vieja from the stove?”

“Oh, it’s just for a little while until our staffing issues are dealt with,” Manuel said as Rachel left. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and plopped himself into it with a grunt. “Don’t want to get into it with scheduling anyhow, seeing as I’ve taken so many personal days as of late. The Guardalavaca trip last month, and we’ve got Veronica’s orientation and move-in coming up - ”

“Which, for the fiftieth time, you don’t have to go to,” Veronica spoke up. She smirked at Keith. “I’m going to college on the other side of town, and Papá acts like it’s the other side of the country. I’m not even officially ‘moving out’, I only have to live in the dorms during the week. I’ll be home on weekends.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you on weekdays,” Manuel said.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You didn’t do this with Luis or Marco.”

“Oh, I did, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Veronica is starting her first semester at the Garrison Institute in couple of weeks,” Tania explained to Keith with a proud smile toward Veronica. “Are you very familiar with it?” Keith shook his head and Tania continued, “One of the best research universities out there, and Veronica managed to land herself an absolutely fantastic scholarship package, my little scientist.”

“Mamá, you’re embarrassing me,” Veronica groaned.

“What is it you’re majoring in again, mija?”

“Aeronautics.”

“That’s the one. Thank you, love,” she added to Rachel as the latter set the main course down in the middle of the table. “You can help yourself to as much as you want, Keith, dear.”

“Thank you,” Keith mumbled as he took a seat. The meaty dish that Rachel had set down - the ropa vieja, Keith assumed - was passed his way. It did look and smell appetizing, and Keith was certainly hungry; he’d only eaten a cereal bar for lunch. But he still played it safe, only placing a small scoop onto his plate before passing the dish along to Lance in the seat beside him, who piled a mountain quadruple the size of Keith’s onto his own plate.

“So, enough about me,” Veronica said as she took her own seat. “Looks like you’re going to be my new little brother, huh, Keith?”

Keith lifted one shoulder in a shrug and started picking at his ropa vieja with the tines of his fork. That was the second time he had been called that today, and he honestly wished they would stop. There were always certain foster homes that would do that, foster parents who would call him their ‘son’ and the other kids in the house his ‘brothers’ or ‘sisters’ and tried to act like they were an official ‘family’. It always just made it that much more jarring when they inevitably sent him packing again.

“Well, in that case, I wanna know a little about you,” Veronica said. “Tell me about yourself, Keith.”

“Um,” was all Keith said. He looked down and stuffed a bite of the ropa vieja into his mouth to keep from answering. It tasted pretty good, he decided, but more importantly it gave him an excuse not to talk. What sort of answer was she expecting, anyway? There was nothing to him worth talking about.

“What do you like to do for fun, Keith?” Manuel prompted when the silence had stretched on for several seconds.

“I, uh…” Keith said, trying to come up with something. “I - I read, I guess?”

“Play any sports?” Manuel asked. Keith shook his head. “Any musical instruments?” Another head shake. “Any school activities? Been in any clubs before?” No, and no.

“That’s something we ought to look into for you, right Keith?” said Tania. “Find something fun for you to do in your free time. Altea High’s got a lot of extracurriculars. And you could always tag along with Lance or Rachel to something. They’re both in drama club, and Rachel is in marching band and Lance is on the swim team. Any of those sound like they’d interest you?” When Keith just shrugged, she added, “Well, we can have Mr. Smythe go over the other clubs and such with you on Friday, see if anything sounds fun to you.”

“Mr. who?” Keith asked, frowning.

“The guidance counselor at the school,” Tania answered. “We’re going to meet with him before the school year starts to get your schedule finalized and get you oriented in the school a bit. There’s another get-to-know-you question, Keith! What’s your favorite school subject?”

“Uh, I - I dunno,” Keith answered slowly. “I’m… decent at science?”

“Another one,” Lance groaned. “My whole social circle is just one science geek after another.”

“Lance, don’t make fun,” Manuel scolded. “I think it’s great, we could be looking at another Garrison student in the family in a few years’ time.”

“Mm,” Keith hummed noncommittally. There was no point in even giving that possibility a second thought. He didn’t have the money to afford college, didn’t have the grades to ever go for scholarships, and the odds that he would even still be in this foster home long enough for the McClain’s to have to be concerned about his post-high-school plans were less than zero. But he didn’t bother saying it. They’d figure it out themselves soon enough.

“Come on, Papá, Keith just got here,” Lance said through a mouthful of food. “It’s too early for you to be trying to push him into nerd school.”

“You know, mijo,” Tania said, “If you took your own schoolwork more seriously I bet you’d be in the running for it too. You have the intelligence for it, you really do, if you would just _apply_  yourself - ”

“I’ve already got a future planned out,” Lance interrupted. “Make a name for myself as a contestant on The Bachelorette, use my fame to market a line of luxury hair-care products, retire in Havana at age thirty-two and die peacefully in my hot tub at ninety-six.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, and that terrifies me.”

“Serious as a stab wound. I dream big, Mamá. And I thought we were interrogating Keith, not me.”

“Huh?” Keith said, brows furrowing.

“We’re not interrogating him, Lance, we’re just getting to know him,” said Manuel. “Come on, Keith, back on that. What sort of foods do you like to eat?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Keith answered. “Anything, really.”

“How about music?” Rachel asked.

“I already said I don’t play anything.”

“I meant listening to,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh,” said Keith. “Um, I - I like - I like rock, I guess.”

“Any favorite movies? TV shows?” asked Veronica.

“Not really…”

“How long you been in foster care?” Lance asked.

Keith bit his lip and looked down at his lap, his grip on his fork tightening as Tania scolded, “Lance, not the time.”

“What?” Lance asked. “It was just a question. To get to know Keith better, you know?”

“I don’t - I’d rather not, um, not talk about - ” Keith stammered.

“That’s all right, Keith, that’s all right,” Tania said hastily. “You don’t need to talk about your… experience if you don’t want to.”

“I was just curious, jeez,” Lance muttered, lifting his fork and stabbing it into his rice. “Didn’t mean to freak anyone out or anything.”

“Let’s just - let’s just try to be sensitive about the situation, okay, Lance?”

Keith kept his eyes on his own plate as they spoke, and he could feel his face reddening all the while. Okay, so, clearly Tania had some knowledge about his past. He didn’t know if she knew the actual and distressingly high number of homes he’d been through, or details of what had happened with them, but she knew enough to know that his time in foster care had not been a happy story. And she had just made the rest of the family fully aware of that as well, and Keith squirmed in his seat as he felt the others’ curious eyes on him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance grunted. He took a couple of quiet bites of his food before quietly adding to his mother, “ _¿Tenemos permiso para preguntar por la cicatriz?_ ”

“ _No_ , Lance,” Tania said firmly, shooting him a glare, or at least a close facsimile of one; Tania’s face really was not designed for anger.

Keith glanced between the two of them, confused. “Wait, what did he say?” he asked.

“Nothing, dearie,” Tania sighed.

“But what - ?”

“That’s something we’ll need to do for you now that you’re in the family, isn’t it,” Manuel said. “Help you learn Spanish. Have you got him scheduled for Spanish at the high school, Tania?”

“Not yet, we’ll be going over that with Mr. Smythe,” Tania answered. “Would Spanish class be okay with you, Keith? Altea has a foreign language requirement, but they also teach French, German, Japanese, and Russian, if any of those are - ”

“Nah, um, Spanish is fine,” Keith mumbled. He returned his attention to his plate. Whatever Lance had said, it was obviously not meant for his ears. Fine. He was used to that.

“Are you enjoying your meal, Keith?” Tania asked. Keith nodded wordlessly and continued eating.

The others tried to pick him apart a little more during the rest of the meal, but as Keith just grew quieter, the focus gradually, and thankfully, turned to the others, discussing their lives and back-to-school plans and other miscellany that wound up becoming a buzz in Keith’s ears. The McClains were a very talkative family, and Lance was frankly a louder talker than necessary. It was all starting to grow exhausting and just a little overwhelming.

The strain may have shown on his face, because Tania didn’t push when Keith turned down the offer of second helpings of the food, and when the dinner was finished, she picked his plate up for him. “Don’t worry about dishes or anything tonight,” she said. “Just focus on settling in for now. Tomorrow we can look at fitting you into the family chore chart. Sound good?”

Keith nodded, taking the fact that everyone was getting up from the table as his own invitation to leave. He pushed his chair in with a scrape and headed upstairs, shutting the door to his room behind him and flopping onto the bed, figuring that’s where he’d remain for the rest of the evening.

Things seemed okay so far. Not perfect, but okay. And unless they were putting on a facade for him to start out with - a possibility that he couldn’t outright dismiss no matter how friendly the family may seem - he could deal with the McClains for now. He didn’t know if he’d actually be able to enjoy himself here, or feel comfortable here, but that wasn’t his priority.

He had given up on the possibility of enjoying or being comfortable in any of his homes. As long as he was surviving in it, that was good enough for Keith.

And he was pretty sure he could survive this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿Tenemos permiso para preguntar por la cicatriz? -> Are we allowed to ask about the scar?
> 
> (I took a couple semesters of Spanish in college and kept up with Duolingo, but I'm not fluent, so if there are ever any errors, let me know so I can correct them!)


	5. Chapter 5

_Pidge: How would you like to play some terrible Xbox games Hunk and I picked up at the flea market for 50 cents each?_

_Lance: im not sure i would like that at all_

_Pidge: Too late._

The doorbell rang mere seconds after Lance received the last text, and he groaned at prospect of having to move from his comfortable bed, but managed to suck it up and drag himself down the stairs and open the door to see Pidge and Hunk at the front stoop, the familiar car of Pidge’s older brother Matt already backing out of the driveway. “Whatever happened to you letting me know you’re on your way  _before_  you actually arrive?” Lance asked.

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” Pidge said with a shrug. “Besides, I went to all that trouble to rig up the backwards compatibility on your Xbox, of course I’m gonna use it.” She held up the little stack of games in her hand.

Lance stepped aside and allowed the two of them in. “Why were you shopping for video games at a flea market, of all places?”

“We weren’t,” Hunk answered. “Matt took us to go hunting for parts for that new battlebot Pidge and I have been working on, and we just stumbled across them.”

“And we thought, well, we should get Lance in on the fun,” Pidge finished as she set the games on the coffee table. “Feel flattered. Go ahead, you pick one to start.”

Lance tilted his head to look over the low-res images and strangely-drawn cover art of the games, all with titles he had never heard of -  _Dreadnite, Rise of Vengeance, Snowboard Havoc, Moonrace, Dark Alert_. “These all look terrible,” he said.

“Well, duh,” Pidge said. “You don’t buy a video game for fifty cents and expect quality.”

“Fair point. Okay, I pick…” Lance closed his eyes, twirled his finger in the air, and jabbed one of the games at random. “Moonrace. What is this, a racing game?”

“I dunno, maybe?” Pidge said.

“I’ll set it up!” Hunk said, snatching the game from the table.

Pidge kicked her shoes off and flopped down onto the couch. “All right, now that we’ve got that taken care of, time for the burning question: where is he?”

“Where is who?” Lance asked.

“Waldo,” Pidge replied, rolling her eyes. “Who do you think? Where’s Keith? I wanna meet your new emo brother.”

Lance raised a brow. “Oh, is  _that_  why you guys decided to drop by? Just to see Keith? And here I thought you actually wanted to spend time with  _me_. I’m hurt.”

“Quit hiding him, McClain.”

Lance plopped himself down onto the couch beside her. “Sorry to disappoint, but he’s not here right now.”

“Aw, what?” said Hunk, looking up from where he was kneeling by the console in front of the TV. “So we came all this way for nothing?”

“My feelings. They’re wounded.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re thrilled to be graced by your awesome presence too, Lance,” Pidge said. “Seriously, though, we wanna meet him.”

“Mamá took him to the school to get his schedule figured out or something,” said Lance. “And then I think she was gonna take him back-to-school shopping too.” He shrugged. “They’ve been gone for a few hours now already. Don’t know how much longer they’re gonna be.”

“Well, at least we’ve got something to do while we wait,” Hunk said as the opening menu appeared on the TV screen and he stood up. The game menu displayed an option of either one- or two-player mode, and Hunk turned to the others, one controller in each hand. “Looks like two players max for this one. Who wants the other one?”

“Dibs,” said Pidge. “Toss it here.”

“Excuse you,” Lance snapped. “This is my house.”

“But it’s my game.”

“Or you could both take one and I’ll sit out this round,” Hunk suggested.

“What, like mature adults?” Pidge said. “Sounds boring, but okay. Toss it here.”

Hunk passed a controller to each of them and plunked down to sit cross-legged in front of the couch and watch. Pidge sank down into couch cushions, bringing her legs around to drape over Hunk’s shoulders as if he were her personal ottoman.

It turned out that Lance’s assumption was correct: it  _was_  a racing game, and a buggy one at that. Three races in, Lance ended up having to set his controller down and wait for Pidge and the other computer players to finish the race without him, as his own Mooncar had somehow morphed through a rock wall and gotten irretrievably stuck during the first lap. “So,” he said, nudging Hunk in his decision to make conversation to pass the time. “Battlebot?”

“For robotics club at school,” Hunk said. “Pidge and I want to get a head start on ours.”

“I didn’t realize you actually got to make the robots  _fight!_ ” Lance said. “I thought they just, like, did chores or something.”

“We don’t make them fight,” Pidge said, not taking her eyes from the game. “They do things like throw discs and walk on balance beams and stuff.”

“Oh,” Lance said, shoulders deflated. “That’s… less cool. The ‘battlebot’ name was misleading.”

“That’s not what they’re officially called,” said Hunk. “That’s just what Pidge calls them.”

“You would know this if you actually joined the club,” Pidge said. “We need more underclassmen.”

Lance shook his head. “Told you already, schedule conflict with swimming.”

“I call bullshit,” Pidge said. “Matt’s president this year and he’s still got time for soccer.”

“Soccer and swim have different schedules,” Lance said. “Sorry, Pidge, you’re not getting me into your club.”

“You’re going to regret that decision once the robots turn on humanity and you don’t know how to deprogram them.”

“Hunk will protect me, right, Hunk?” Lance asked.

“If I must,” Hunk said. “Maybe we can try and convince Keith to join robotics when he gets back.”

Pidge perked up. “There we go, that’s an idea! We’ll get to him before any other clubs get a chance!”

“Eh, I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Lance said. “Keith doesn’t really seem like the club-joining type.”

Hunk raised a brow. “How come?”

“Because he’s not exactly social,” Lance answered. “In the time he’s been here he only ever comes downstairs for meals and barely says a word to any of the rest of us during them. The rest of the time, he’s just holed up in his room, quiet as a mouse.”

Hunk shrugged. “He only showed up, what, two days ago? Probably just still being shy.”

“Hunk, there’s shy, and then there’s straight-up asocial. I mean, you’re not exactly the most outgoing guy in the world, but if you moved in with a group of people, you would hold an actual conversation with them by day two, right?”

“I wouldn’t,” Pidge said.

“Yes you would,” Lance huffed. “And it’s not like we haven’t made an effort, you know? We try to chat with him and stuff, but he just stares at his food and mumbles little one-word answers and shuts us out.” He sighed. “Of all the foster brothers Mamá could have picked for me, she goes with the one who doesn’t even want to be here.”

“Still bitter about not getting the happy hyper eight-year-old you dreamed of, huh?” Pidge muttered.

“I’m not bitter,” Lance said.

“You are  _so_  bitter,” Pidge said. “Besides, it’s not like your parents just picked him out of a catalogue or anything. I’m pretty sure when you apply to become a foster parent, if you don’t already have a specific kid you’re planning to foster in mind, the state gets to pick one for you. Or, something like that, anyway. And what are your parents gonna do, go ‘oh, no thanks, this one’s too quiet, we’ll pass’? Dick move.”

“I’m not saying I wanted them to do that or anything. I’m just - I dunno, frustrated, I guess.”

“Eh, give it time,” Hunk said. “You’re a lot to get used to, and it’s only been a couple of days. Patience is a virtue.”

“Since when did I care about being virtuous?” Lance said.

“Don’t know what you mean, you’ve always seemed like a pillar of virtue to me,” Pidge said flatly. She picked up Lance’s controller and dropped it back into hands. “Okay, next race is up. Try to not hit every single crater this time, it’s no fun playing with a player two if you don’t put up an actual challenge.”

“It’s not me who sucks, it’s the game,” Lance said.

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools, Lance,” said Hunk.

“I am  _this_  close to kicking you both out of my house,” Lance muttered before settling back into couch and moving his concentration to the TV screen.

They passed the next race mostly in peace and quiet, and went another round before getting bored and switching to  _Dark Alert_ , which turned out to be a fairly generic side scrolling beat-’em-up game. It was about ten minutes into the game, with Hunk at the controller, that the knob of the front door finally turned to welcome Lance’s mother and new brother back into the house.

Lance lifted his hand in greeting as they entered, his mother carrying two shopping bags in each hand and Keith hugging a new backpack to his chest. His mom smiled back, but Keith didn’t even look his way, instead staring at Hunk before darting his eyes toward Pidge. He stepped back, brow furrowed.

“This is Hunk and Pidge,” Lance said, answering Keith’s unspoken question and gesturing to each of them in turn. “Friends from school.”

“Oh, you’ll have to get used to seeing those two around,” his mother said to Keith. “They and Lance are something of a package deal. Good to see you guys.”

“You too, Señora McClain,” Pidge said, although her eyes were fixed firmly on Keith. Hunk paused the video game and turned in their direction as well. “So,” Pidge continued. “You must be the famous Keith that Lance has told us so much about?”

“Pidge,” Lance groaned as Keith narrowed his eyes toward Lance in suspicion. “It’s not like I was gossiping about you or anything,” he assured Keith. “Just, you know, telling them I had a new foster brother who moved in. Nothing bad.” Okay, that was a bit of a white lie, but what Keith didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Keith must have accepted it, though, because he nodded slowly and mumbled a hasty “hi” to Pidge. Hunk, in his turn, smiled widely at him and waved. “If you’re not busy, you wanna come join us? We’re running through some new games. Well, they’re old games, actually, but they’re new to us. Still have three here we haven’t touched yet, you can be the first to give it a go. Oh, I probably should have asked first, you like video games?”

Keith stared at him for a couple of seconds before shrugging, and Lance raised a brow at Hunk. If they had been doubting at all that Keith was as untalkative as he had claimed, here was the supporting evidence. Hunk must have at least started to pick up on Keith’s stony vibe already, though, because he’d babbled a bit just then. Hunk always babbled when he felt awkward.

“So is that a yes or no to joining us?” Pidge asked.

“No thank you,” Keith said.

Pidge shrugged. “Probably for the best. These games kinda suck. I’ll ask again when we bring over something decent.”

“You two ready for the school year?” Lance’s mother asked. Pidge and Hunk both nodded and made sounds of assent before she turned back to Keith and said, “They’re both going to be sophomores as well, so you guys might be having some classes together. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help you out with anything you need to help get settled into your new school, same as Lance. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course, Señora McClain!” Hunk said with an enthusiastic nod at the same time as Pidge responded with a flat, “Sure.”

“There you have it,” she said with a satisfied nod. “By the way, Lance, whatever happened to those old clothes of Marco’s I gave you to go through and pick out? I wanted to let Keith have a look at the ones you didn’t pick, see if there’s anything he likes. Lord knows, he barely brought along enough clothes to last him a week.” Keith tightened his grip on his backpack and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“I put them back in the attic,” Lance answered. “Marco has terrible taste in clothes. Keith can have all of them.”

“You didn’t want any of them?” his mother asked. “With all the money you spend on clothes, you really didn’t want any new outfits for free?”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m blowing my allowance on designer labels or anything,” Lance said. “I just don’t want to be seen in public in the sad remains of Marco’s grunge phase.”

His mother shook her head. “Well, at least they’re not going to waste now. Come on, Keith, I’ll show you the clothes. I promise, they’re perfectly fine; Lance is just picky.”

Keith nodded and hurried to follow, and the two of them made their way upstairs and out of sight. Lance watched them go before turning back and nudging Hunk. “Okay, you can unpause it now.”

“Well, I don’t know what you were complaining about,” Pidge said. “He seemed great.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance asked. “He barely said two words to you.”

“Yeah, that’s why he seemed great. Breath of fresh air after years with  _you_.” Lance picked up one of the couch pillows and smacked her on the head with it.

“He wasn’t really  _emo_ , was he,” Hunk said. “I mean, he had the dark colors, but I think emo involves more accessorizing.”

“Okay, yeah, I kinda meant emo more as a  _vibe_ , you know?” said Lance. “Like, introverted and angry-sad. And he’s got the hair for it, and the face.”

“What, ‘cause of the scar or something?” Pidge asked.

“I meant, like, the facial expressions,” Lance said. “But, sure, that too.”

“No wonder you’re not crazy about him,” Pidge continued, smirking. “New kid in school, broody and mysterious, good-looking and with a face scar to boot? He’s gonna be stealing all your dates.”

“What are you on about?”

“That was one of the things you were worried about, right? New foster brother taking all the dateable people for himself?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “First of all, a face scar would make a person  _less_  likely to attract admirers, not more.”

“Actually, I’m with Pidge on that one,” Hunk said. “Apparently people go nuts for face scars.”

“Yeah, like, Matt’s friend Shiro?” Pidge said. “Guys are falling all over themselves for him, and let’s not pretend the scar’s not at least a factor.”

“Okay, but that’s a special case. Shiro’s - ”

“And apparently people just swoon over the Phantom of the Opera,” Hunk added.

“And there’s Prince Zuko,” said Pidge.

“Inigo Montoya.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Deathstroke.”

“That lion from  _The Lion King 2_.”

“You’re reaching,” Lance groaned. “And bottom line, he is not going to steal my dates. Hell, for all we know, maybe he doesn’t even date at all. Maybe he’s another Pidge.”

Pidge perked up, eyes suddenly bright with curiosity. “You think? That’d be awesome!”

“Should we ask?” said Hunk.

“No, Hunk,” Lance sighed. “Leave it.”

Pidge huffed out a laugh before slumping back into her previous posture on the couch. “Well, whatever the case. He didn’t seem so bad. Just quiet. I say give it time. I was quiet too when I first moved up to your grade, and look at me now.”

“Ah, the good old days,” Lance said wistfully. “Yes, I remember.”

“It’s like you _want_  me to punch you,” Pidge huffed, giving him a shove. “But seriously, my money’s on it being nerves. I’m sure he’s not so bad.”

“Give it time,” Hunk said with a nod. “Patience.”

“Whatever,” Lance said, shrugging. He folded his arms and turned his eyes back to the game on the screen. “So when we switching controllers again, huh? I haven’t had a turn in like half an hour.”

“Patience, Lance,” Pidge said sagely.

“You guys suck.”


	6. Chapter 6

The days leading up to the beginning of the school year were both too long and not long enough. Too long because there wasn’t a whole lot for Keith to occupy his time with. That was, admittedly, at least a little his own fault, as he spent the vast majority of his time in his room rather than downstairs where things were actually happening.

But it was easier on him this way. The TV in the front room was usually taken, and he didn’t want to interfere with anyone else’s use. Even when it wasn’t, the room was right there adjacent to the stairs and the basement entrance and the front door, all which were constantly trafficked. No way would he be able to relax amidst all that. And there was a family computer in the basement, but it faced outward into the room at large, and Keith hated the feeling of people looking over his shoulder while he was online, no matter how innocuous his browsing may be. Besides, Rachel had brought her trumpet home from summer band on Friday to practice it over the weekend, and the basement was her preferred practice space, so that was enough to keep Keith steering clear to avoid disrupting her.

Tania, after noticing just how much time Keith spent hibernating in his room, had ordered a small used television for it online - despite Keith’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, and hadn’t she already blown enough money on him over the past few days anyway - but they still had to wait for the delivery.

So the meantime was whiled away by re-reading his books and cautiously trying out the art supplies Tania had bought him for school. He didn’t think much of his artistic abilities, but it was one of the only creative outlets suggested by past therapists and social workers that actually clicked with him. He wouldn’t normally have asked his foster family for supplies, but Altea High required every student to take at least one year of a fine arts elective, so registering for art class had actually been a reason to need them.

The days were not long enough, though, in that, in spite of the way time had dragged, Keith still hadn’t managed to properly make himself feel ready to return to school by the time Monday morning rolled around. He woke early in the morning to a knocking at his door and Manuel’s voice telling him it was time to get up, and went downstairs to an unusually elaborate first-day-of-school breakfast, which Lance and Rachel both ate rather robotically, still adjusting to the waking world after a summer of sleeping in.

He threw on his clothes for the day - some dark gray jeans and a short-sleeved flannel that had formerly been Marco’s and which, to Keith’s surprise, had actually fit him pretty much perfectly, and were in better shape than most of Keith’s own clothes anyhow - and managed to get to the bathroom to finish his morning routine before Lance got to it. He had already managed to learn just how elaborate Lance’s ablutions were, and true to form, he kept Keith and Rachel waiting impatiently downstairs for twenty minutes in order to get his hair and face ‘perfect’. Even though when he finally was satisfied and came to join them, Keith could swear Lance looked exactly the same as he always did.

Rachel led the way out the door, slipping into the driver’s seat of an old scratched-up LeSabre parked at the curb. “You can take shotgun if you want,” she said to Lance as he opened the door of the seat behind her.

“God, no thanks,” Lance said. “I’ve seen you drive. I’m sitting where I’m most likely to survive when you inevitably crash us headlong into the auditorium.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. Keith will sit up front with me, right, Keith?”

“Uh, sure,” Keith said, opening the door and carefully sliding into the seat.

“Do what you want,” Lance said. “But don’t be surprised if you’re the first to go.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Rachel said as she turned the key in the ignition. She shifted the car into drive and started down the road.

“Tell Keith how many tries it took you to pass your driving test.”

“I passed it eventually, it doesn’t matter.”

“Five tries. And on the third try she ran over a - ”

Rachel cut him off by speeding up and then braking hard at the stop sign on the corner, sending Keith lurching forward and Lance’s face knocking into her headrest. “Oops,” she said flatly. “Sorry, Lance, guess I’m just a bad driver.”

 _“Vete a la mierda,”_ Lance muttered, rubbing his forehead with a scowl.

“I’m telling Mamá you’re teaching Keith bad words,” said Rachel.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Keith managed to tune them out not long into the drive. He pulled his feet onto the seat and his knees up to his chest, letting all his focus drift to the buildings and trees and street signs they passed as he stared out the car window, trying to familiarize himself with the new surroundings, look out for landmarks that would make the route easier to remember if he needed to walk to or from school any time soon. Occasionally certain foster families of the past would forget to take him to school or pick him up. Or maybe do so intentionally. He could never be certain.

Lance and Rachel managed to keep up their light bickering all the way up until they pulled into the student parking lot, where Rachel had to try twice to park between the lines of her selected parking space, to Lance’s amusement. Despite Lance’s elaborate morning routine, it seemed they had still managed to arrive at school earlier than most, since the majority of the parking spaces were still empty. That was good. Keith still needed to stop by the front office to pick up his finalized schedule, and the last thing he needed was for that to make him late on the first day of school.

He parted ways from the McClains at the entrance, where they set off to their lockers and Keith to the front office. It was fairly crowded when he entered, students and a few parents trying to get some last-minute arrangements made before classes began. Keith hovered near the doorway, not wanting to barge past anyone or draw undue attention to himself by going to the receptionist.

In the midst of debating how he was going to go about asking for his schedule, his thoughts were interrupted by his name being called. The door to the guidance counselor’s office, adjacent to the front office, had been flung open, and Mr. Smythe stood in the entryway, waving him over.

Keith let out a breath and hurried over. Mr. Smythe was a recognizable presence, if a rather overwhelming one. He was a difficult person to forget, between the shock of bright orange hair on his head to the elaborate matching mustache, from his shoulderpadded blazer to his distinct accent. He’d certainly left an impression when Keith and Tania had met with him a few days prior.

“Keith, my boy, good to see you again!” Mr. Smythe said, beckoning him toward the office. “Come in, come in, I was just about to get your schedule printed up for you.” Keith followed him into the little office silently. He wasn’t sure how long this would take, so he opted to keep standing rather than take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall by the door.

“Now,” Mr. Smythe said, plopping himself into his own chair and turning to his computer screen. “I fit you into the art elective you wanted and made room for you in one of the Spanish 1 classes that fit the rest of your schedule. We also managed to get a gym uniform in for you in your size in time for you to be able to participate in your Phys. Ed. class today, so you can let Señora McClain know she needn’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

The printer on Mr. Smythe’s desk whirred as the counselor swiveled his chair to face Keith directly. “Regarding your core classes,” he continued. “For most of them we’ve decided to go ahead and place you in the standard sophomore level courses. I understand that there may be a few concepts from freshman courses that may need to be reviewed for you, but I’ve given your teachers fair warning ahead of time, so they’re aware that you may need a little bit of one-on-one assistance. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. I’ve also gone ahead and gotten you signed up for peer tutoring during your study hall block, so that could be a means to help you catch up.”

“Oh.” Keith’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze. The whole situation was embarrassing, him being as far behind in school as he was. He knew he wasn’t stupid - despite what certain foster family members or classmates had told him in the past - but between constantly switching schools, his discipline record, assignments and books gone missing, the absolute joke of ‘education’ that the juvenile center had stuck him with all through last school year, and a decade of intense stress as the icing on the cake, well… he was probably lucky that his grades weren’t even _worse_.

“The only class that we couldn’t put you in sophomore level for was your Mathematics requirement,” Mr. Smythe was continuing, and Keith shook himself back into the present. “Seeing as the syllabus is much more linear than your other core classes. We’ve placed you in Algebra 1. However, if you put some elbow grease into your studies, Ms. Ryner has said that she would be happy to work with you to map out an independent study curriculum to get you back on track. If you go that route, you can have Pre-Calculus finished by graduation, same as the majority of your classmates. Of course, only Algebra 2 is a required credit for graduation, but colleges will be looking for - ”

“The regular track is fine, Mr. Smythe,” Keith said, immediately wincing afterward when he realized he had just interrupted.

Mr. Smythe, fortunately, didn’t seem to take offense at the interruption, and instead simply gave him a brief nod before pulling the schedule out of the printer tray and handing it to him. “Well, the option is available all this semester in case you change your mind. We’ll be happy to make accommodations.”

“Thanks,” Keith grunted. He accepted the paper and scanned the schedule.

“And Keith?”

“Mm?”

“That doesn’t just apply to classes.” Keith looked back up from the schedule to find Mr. Smythe’s gaze fixed firmly on him, intense and sincere. “If you are having any difficulties adjusting here, any concerns, or if you just need someone to talk to. My job isn’t just schedule planning and test prep, you know.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Why… are you telling me that?”

Mr. Smythe shrugged. “Thought I’d make the offer. It’s never easy for a new student to transition, and I know you have a bit of a, ah, colorful history in school settings - ”

“Who told you that?” Keith snapped.

“Your transcripts,” Mr. Smythe replied simply.

“... Oh.”

“Of course, it’s entirely up to you if you want to meet with me or not,” Mr. Smythe continued. “Señora McClain did inquire about it, but doesn’t want to force anything. Just be aware, my door is always open.” He leaned back in his chair and swiveled his gaze to his computer. “Feel free to run along, now, Keith. Wouldn’t want to make you late for your first class.”

“Um, right,” Keith said, hesitating only a moment before backing out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

His next stop was his locker, and thankfully he remembered where that was from the school tour he’d been given last week, and it was close, only two halls down from the administrative wing. The hallway was crowded when he got there, and he clung to the straps of his backpack tightly as he wove his way through the mass of students and to his locker.

He hung his backpack onto the hook and grabbed some supplies for his morning classes. Biology was the first listed on the sheet that Mr. Smythe had given him, located in room 224, which was… he wasn’t sure where. It was a lot to remember after only a single tour.

Biting his lip, he looked around the crowd of students. Lockers were grouped by year, so this hallway should be full of sophomores, which hopefully meant that a familiar face was nearby. After a few moments of scanning, he spotted an orange headband poking up from the crowd, taller than most of the other students around, and he set off in that direction. He recognized that headband, he was pretty sure, and the odds of another student in the same school having that same particular taste in hair accessories seemed slim.

Sure enough, the boy with the headband was the same as the one who had been visiting the house the other day, and Lance was with him, chatting idly while leaning up against a nearby locker, the girl who’d been with them there as well, standing with her arms wrapped around a bright green trapper keeper.

The boy - Keith couldn’t quite recall his name; Hank, maybe? - noticed his approach, and greeted him with a smile and a wave, that got the others’ attention and had them turning to him as well. “Hey Keith!” he said brightly.

“Hey...” Keith said in return.

“Hunk,” the boy supplied. Oh, well, he had been close.

“Right.” He cleared his throat and held up his schedule to the others. “Do, um, do you guys know - could one of you show me - um, room 224?”

“Here, lemme see that,” Lance said, snatching the schedule out of Keith’s hand to examine. “Huh, same bio class as me, so you can just follow me there. Same lunch blocks too, looks like. And English, and computer science… and gym…” He raised a brow at Keith. “You stalking me, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but - ”

“I’m not stalking you,” Keith said, glaring as he grabbed his schedule back from him. “I didn’t pick the schedule.”

“Relax, I’m joking. Just making sure you’re aware how blessed you are to have me in so many of your classes.”

“I see we’re playing fast and loose with the definition of the word ‘blessed’ this morning,” the girl remarked, and for the life of him Keith couldn’t remember what her name was.

“Pidge here is just jealous of you,” Lance said to Keith. Pidge, then. Keith repeated it in his head a few times to commit it to memory.

“I am jealous of no one,” Pidge said. “I’ve got most of my classes with Hunk, so if anyone should be jealous, it’s you.”

“Aww, Pidge,” Hunk said with a smile. “That’s sweet of you to - wait, what do you want?”

“Your cookie at lunch.”

“No.”

“Then I take back my compliment.”

“All right, well,” Lance straightened up from the row of lockers and stretched. “Come on Keith, I’ll show you where Biology. Let’s give these two some privacy to get their flirt on.”

He made a gesture to follow as he stepped away, as Hunk let out an indignant squawk and Pidge stuck her tongue out at him. Keith hurried to fall into place next to him. “Wait, those two are dating?” he asked.

Lance smirked. “Heh, nah, they just get annoyed when I say they are. So, of course, I say it all the time. Why, you looking to get together with one of them? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think you’re either of their type - for a number of reasons.”

Keith grimaced and shook his head. “No, I don’t date.”

“Huh,” said Lance. “Guess I’ll have to tell Pidge she was right.”

“What?”

“Here we are,” Lance said, dropping the subject abruptly and gesturing grandly into the doorway of a classroom. “Welcome to the Joy of Biology.”

He moved toward the back to plop into an empty desk, and Keith followed along behind him, staring straight ahead and watching the other students in the corners of his vision. Cautiously he edged toward the desk beside Lance’s. “So, do we just sit anywhere, or - ?”

He paused when he realized that Lance was already striking up a conversation with the occupant of his other desk neighbor, a girl with wire-frame glasses and a thick black ponytail. Deciding not to disturb them, Keith slid silently into the open desk, setting his notebook and folder on the desk’s surface and opting to simply remain quiet until class began.

The teacher, Mrs. Montgomery, arrived right before the bell rang and the students who were still standing as they chatted amongst themselves, presumably catching up after the summer break, hastened into the empty desks that remained. She thankfully didn’t try any sort of first day of school look-what-a-cool-teacher-I-am opening stunt, and instead opened the class fairly dully, dropping a stack of syllabi onto one of the desks in the front row for the students to pass around and returning to the front podium to read out the roll call.

It wasn’t exactly a big social occasion or anything worse being nervous over, but he still rehearsed saying ‘here’ in his head a dozen times over so that he was prepared when she called his name. “Kogane, Keith.”

“Here,” he replied.

He may have messed it up somehow anyway, though, because a kid sitting two desks away jumped in his seat and whipped his head around at the sound of Keith’s voice to look him up and down. He had floppy brown bangs and a sharply angled face, and the moment his gaze met Keith’s, his eyes widened and he quickly turned away again.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the back of the kid’s head. Something about his face struck him as vaguely familiar, just a twinge of recognition in his gut. He wracked his mind, but he couldn’t place it, and he reluctantly let the matter drop from his thoughts when the teacher finished with roll call and started passing out the textbooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vete a la mierda. -> (roughly translated) Fuck off.

**Author's Note:**

> [I tumble.](http://justheretobreakthings.tumblr.com)


End file.
